


And It's Contagious

by canistakahari



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Stress Relief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 14:51:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canistakahari/pseuds/canistakahari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones has apparently had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And It's Contagious

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seanchaidh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seanchaidh/gifts).



> seanchaidh had a terrible stressful week. I wrote her fic about stressed Bones.

Jim knows there’s something wrong when McCoy drops into the seat across from him in the mess, fixes him with dark eyes that are backed with bruises, grabs a handful of fries right off Jim’s plate, and jams them wholesale into his mouth.   
  
“Hey!” says Jim. It’s a token protest, especially considering Jim eats off McCoy’s plate all the time and ignores every single one of the glares Bones always sends his way in response. “Those were fried, you know. In oil. Heart-stopping oil. Very bad for you.”  
  
McCoy chews violently and then swallows with equal determination, still maintaining that hard-edged veneer of sheer mania. And then he just stares at Jim, looking off-kilter and dazed.  
  
“Have you slept?” asks Jim, raising his eyebrows. Now that he’s looking more closely, he can see that McCoy has a fine layer of stubble on his jaw and his skin is sallow. He looks like he’s been locked in a basement for a week, half-starved and denied bathroom privileges.   
  
“I don’t know,” says McCoy. “Yes. No. On a cot in medical. Cat nap.”  
  
McCoy seems incapable of full sentences, and even though he’s settled into the mess, he hasn’t bothered to collect a tray and doesn’t seem at all inclined to get himself something to eat other than what he can steal from Jim.   
  
“Are you off shift now?” asks Jim.  
  
“Yeah.” McCoy sags a little with this admission, his head sinking into his hands. He seems semi-conscious, and Jim has no idea why he came to the mess instead of going directly back to their dorm as soon as he got off shift and just dive-bombing into bed.   
  
“C’mon,” says Jim, pushing his tray aside and getting to his feet. McCoy just grunts, the prospect of raising his head again apparently just too much to bear. Jim skirts the table and takes McCoy by the elbow, gently levering the exhausted man to his feet. “Upsy-daisy, Bonesy, let’s go get you tucked up in bed, huh?”  
  
“Unnh,” replies McCoy, sagging abruptly against Jim and forcing him to wrap an arm around his shoulders instead. Not that this is a bad thing. McCoy has really nice shoulders.   
  
The walk back to their dorm is like accompanying a sleep-walker, trying to keep McCoy on course without startling him too badly, one arm around his shoulders and the other clutching his forearm. He trips three times over nothing Jim can see beyond his own boots, and his eyelids droop alarmingly. By the time Jim is keying in the code to their dorm, McCoy’s head has lolled onto Jim’s shoulder, and his legs seem to be moving under some foreign power. He’s also mumbling nonsense under his breath, none of which Jim can make out. He comes to the conclusion that McCoy is crashing hard after what probably amounts to grievous abuse of stims and caffeine.   
  
“Almost there,” says Jim softly, pretty sure McCoy can’t even hear him. “C’mon, there you go.”  
  
He pulls the covers down to the bottom of the mattress and seats McCoy on the edge of the bed. The other man immediately loses his balance and flops backwards, arms splayed at his sides, mouth slack and parted. In the dim shadows of the room, the dark circles under his eyes give his face a shadowed appearance, and the dark slash of his hair spread messily over his forehead makes him look young and pale.   
  
“Man, Bones, you are not a light man,” says Jim cheerfully, bending down to tug off McCoy’s boots. “You’re basically like a small elephant. Or one of those really big horses with the huge furry feet.”  
  
McCoy makes a noise but doesn’t move, and Jim wonders if he’s already asleep. He undoes his pants carefully, wary of getting a punch in the nose, but McCoy remains motionless, just stays still as Jim strips off his pants after a lot of awkward shimmying and tugging, until they’re pooled around his sock feet and he can slide them free of McCoy’s long, toned legs.   
  
“Jim,” slurs McCoy suddenly, startling Jim a lot more than he’d like to admit.   
  
“Yeah, buddy,” he replies, removing McCoy’s socks after a moment of thought, because socks in bed are pointless and evil and wrong.   
  
“Are you taking advantage of me in my vulnerable state?”  
  
It’s a real sentence, with a subject and a verb and words with more than two syllables, and Jim feels absurdly proud of McCoy for actually being able to vocalize in such an incapacitated condition. “No. I am being a totally awesome friend and roommate and undressing you before I tuck your half-dead ass into bed.”  
  
A long, confused silence follows. “Okay,” McCoy finally allows. “But I’m watching you.”  
  
A quick peek over McCoy crotch and up his torso to his face reveals that McCoy is not, in fact, watching him. Jim quickly finishes stripping him down to his boxers and rolls him onto his side, tucking a pillow under his head and curling his legs up so that he’s not dangling off the end of the bed. Then, feeling a bit more responsible than he ever has for another human being, Jim pulls the covers up to McCoy’s chin and tucks them around his shoulders. McCoy snuffles into the pillow, plush lips parted as he breathes softly. Jim spends a moment just watching him, and then, before he can stop himself, reaches out to stroke his hair out of his eyes.   
  
“Jim,” breathes McCoy, eyelids flickering. “Don’t go.”  
  
Jim freezes a little, unsure. “Bones?”  
  
“Stay. Get some sleep.”  
  
He doesn’t stop to think about it. Just removes his own clothes until he’s in his boxers and a t-shirt, and then wriggles into bed behind McCoy, sliding into the curve of his spine and spooning him unself-consciously. McCoy sighs contentedly and settles, tugging Jim’s arm over his hip, which is all the encouragement Jim needs to nuzzle into the back of his neck.   
  
Only then does McCoy’s breathing finally even out as his body relaxes into sleep, and Jim lets his own eyes drift closed.


End file.
